Suddenly he started from his lounging place, caught
his hat more firmly over his eyes, threw away his
unlighted cigarette and hurried across the veranda
of the hotel. Had he seen an enemy to chastise,
or an old friend to greet, or a pretty girl? No,
it was only old Jud Harding, the blacksmith, whose
hand had lost its strength, but who still worked iron
as others mold putty, simply because he had the genius
for his craft. He was staggering now under a load
of boards which he had shouldered to carry to his
shop. In a moment that load was shifted to the
shoulder of Ronicky Doone, and they went on down the
street, laughing and talking together until the load
was dropped on the floor of Harding’s shop.
“And how’s the sick feller coming?”
asked Harding.
“Coming fine,” answered Ronicky.
“Couple of days and I’ll have him out
for a little exercise. Lucky thing it was a clean
wound and didn’t nick the bone. Soon as
it’s healed over he’ll never know he was
plugged.”
Harding considered his young friend with twinkling
eyes. “Queer thing to me,” he said,
“is how you and this gent Gregg have hit it off
so well together. Might almost say it was like
you’d shot Gregg and now was trying to make
up for it. But, of course, that ain’t the
truth.”
“Of course not,” said Ronicky gravely
and met the eye of Harding without faltering.
“Another queer thing,” went on the cunning
old smith. “He was fooling with that gun
while he was in the saddle, which just means that the
muzzle must of been pretty close to his skin.
But there wasn’t any sign of a powder burn,
the doc says.”
“But his trousers was pretty bad burned, I guess,”
said Ronicky.
“H-m,” said the blacksmith, “that’s
the first time I’ve heard about it.”
He went on more seriously: “I got something
to tell you, Ronicky. Ever hear the story about
the gent that took pity on the snake that was stiff
with cold and brought the snake in to warm him up beside
the fire? The minute the snake come to life he
sunk his fangs in the gent that had saved him.”
“Meaning,” said Ronicky, “that,
because I’ve done a good turn for Gregg, I’d
better look out for him?”
“Meaning nothing,” said Harding, “except
that the reason the snake bit the gent was because
he’d had a stone heaved at him by the same man
one day and hadn’t forgot it.”
But Ronicky Doone merely laughed and turned back toward
the hotel.
His Victim’s Trouble
Yet he could not help pondering on the words of old
Harding. Bill Gregg had been a strange patient.
He had never repeated his first offer to tell his
story. He remained sullen and silent, with his
brooding eyes fixed on the blank wall before him, and
nothing could permanently cheer him. Some inward
gloom seemed to possess the man.
